


Bones and Dying Cells

by toodelicatee



Series: Poor Savage Things [1]
Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Parenthood, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toodelicatee/pseuds/toodelicatee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lo and behold, Ben finds himself a Father. His love starts to twist. It becomes something that could crush cities, overthrow monarchs and destroy whole armies.</p><p>He learns softness too, how to hold fragility and keep it safe in his hands. </p><p>But his soul is made up of dead wood. Things can go wrong, so they will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bones and Dying Cells

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a writing experiment for me rather than expecting any feedback or readers; I understand it's a really small fandom.  
> A huge thank you to anyone who does read. I really welcome feedback of any sort.  
> Also, in this fic series- Ben never adopted Alex. I don't normally feel comfortable about erasing enormous parts of canon but I wanted to for this. One of my favourite relationships to write is that of a father and daughter, and I wanted to do that for Ben , with an original character so I could make them play off each other in the way I imagine they would if they were real.
> 
> Trigger warning for dark themes of illness and depression. I am unable, apparently, to write anything that isn't soul numbing.

Annie gives birth off-island, with Ben by her side of course, his mouth soft against her cheek.  
  
'She's the most beautiful thing,' She whispers, rocking their child slowly.  
  
Ben turns away before anyone can see him cry.  
  
-  
  
She's so small that at first he doesn't let her sleep in the crib. He thinks it's too dangerous, that blankets will turn into ropes and strangle rather than swaddle, so he stays awake all night with his daughter on his lap instead.  
  
His anxiety comes from the fact that things are going too well. He catches himself readying for disaster, bandaging his heart up with thick duct-tape in preparation for tragedy. It is written so deeply into his bones, the same way grief is written into the soldier's Mother's.  
  
The baby wriggles against his legs. She sobs a little but calms the second he starts to stroke her head, fingering the small waves of hair. She's eventually still for him.

There's a faint noise from the television, and the echo of movement outside. The sounds are like a mutiny inside his ears, a war on peace.

Annie smiles at him from the door frame, her eyes like something warm, something light, 'You know, she's not made of porcelain; she can spend one night in the crib.'  
  
Ben says nothing because how can she be sure? How can she be sure that if he were to put the child down, she wouldn't just come apart like cotton pieces in the ocean? How can anyone be sure?  
  
-  
  
Ben gets on his knees to pray. He calls God's name as though he were an ex-lover, shaking like a leaf all the while.  
  
_Make me a better Father than my own, make me a better Father than he was, please, let me take care of her._  
  
He still can't believe something so pure, so close to divinity, has come from him. He'd once thought any child of his would be made of barbed wire and sin. He never could have imagined something so innocent with his DNA, even with his god-damn eyes.  
  
'Help me,' he says to God, though he knows nobody's likely listening.

-

They talk about names while making tea in the kitchen. He touches the small of her back and she takes his hand and brushes her lips against it.

'What about Mary?' 

'Too plain,' Annie sighs, 'she needs a brilliant name, something bright, something no one could forget.'

Ben thinks about her words, then realises he agrees. 

-  
  
Moonlight douses them both one night while they are fucking. The baby snores softly beside them in her crib. They come loudly, and it wakes their child.   
  
'Shh, sweetheart,' Annie wraps a sheet around her naked torso and gets up, 'it's OK, it's OK, Mommy and Daddy were just-'  
  
'-screwing,' Ben deadpans.  
  
They crumble into separate fits of giggles, the baby even joins in, oblivious.  
  
-  
  
Everyone compliments them on how beautiful she is. They say she'll break some hearts when she grows up.  
  
She has her Mother's button nose, strong jaw and round rose cheeks, even the fair curly tresses. But she has her Father's eyes, puffy and stark blue, a glaze of sorrow over them. On his face they are empty and cold- on her he's never seen anything quite as perfect.  
  
-  
  
'We should call her Elenora,' Annie says, her head tilted up toward the stars. They're on the backs in the garden, the baby between them.  
  
'Over my dead body,' Ben laughs.  
  
Neither of them even suspect at this point that it will be over _her's._  
  
-  
  
Things go wrong, turn dangerous, too quickly. It starts with Roger Linus visiting.  
  
'Aye, she's a bonny thing,' it's like he's growling, like he's bitter over something. It's as though love can't get past his teeth and out into the open.  
  
Ben watches as his Father's thick, meaty hands hold the baby. She's never cried so much in her life.  
  
'Give her back to me Dad,' he takes a step forward.  
  
Roger staggers back, crossing his feet and hitting his back against the wall. He drops the baby.  
  
Ben's on his knees immediately. He barely holds back the vomit crawling up his throat at the sight of the blood. It drips from her head onto her face, in her eyes.  
  
He's shaking. He's shaking so violently he almost seizures. His daughter screams against him. His chest is a hollow grave and if she were to fall inside, he'd dive in after her, with Annie on his arm following.   
  
-  
  
The doctors say she'll be fine. She's lucky. The only damage is a thick lined scar on her forehead, stopping between her eyebrows.  
  
Ben watches Annie's lips tremble as she kisses the mark. She sways on the spot for a second or so, like a tree abused by the winter.  
  
'I won't let him near her again.'  
  
It's not a careful promise; it's furious, it's blind and it's honest.  
  
She touches his face, 'I know.'  
  
-  
  
She is on her back in the blackness. They've just made love.  
  
'I really want to call her Elenora,'  
  
Ben laughs like the joy in their story is going to last, 'I'll think about it.'  
  
She swallows him up in her arms, 'Promise me you'll never let her down, that you'll always keep her safe.'  
  
'What?' he mutters; he's not really focused, too drunk off sleepiness, 'you know I will. Goodnight.'  
  
Annie rests her cheek on the part of his body where the shoulders meet, 'Goodnight, my love.'  
  
-  
  
Some days she weeps more than the baby. Little things will set her off, sometimes she cries for no reason. It confuses Ben at first but when he talks to Richard he tells him it's most likely hormones.  
  
She's always asking him to make promises too.

Every word they say to each other is a promise nowadays.  
  
And when they pass each other around the house her fingers drag across his wrist and she winces when they pull apart.  
  
-  
  
He sings the baby pop music to send her to sleep, hums Elvis lyrics in her tiny ears. Annie often watches this happen with tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
-  
  
'What's the matter?' Ben finally asks.  
  
She doesn't let him see her face then. Only her back, her beautiful sorrowful spine.  
  
'There's a tumor on my brain.'  
  
He drops his coffee mug. It lands near his bare feet and the shards cut up his skin a bit.  
  
'And it's cancerous, malignant.'  
  
Neither make any attempt to move. She's angled away from him, so he's staring at nothing else but her back.  
  
'I'm dying, Ben. I'm dying very shortly.'  
  
His legs give way, forcing him to join the broken mug on the floor. He doesn't get up for hours, not even to hold her. He just coughs until he's sick, thinking about how the love of his life might look tucked inside a coffin, underneath the soil he'll still be walking on.  
  
-  
  
Ben slides swiftly into depression. However, he covers it fairly well. He puts his aching behind forced strength. Inside his head, and his heart, every cell is defective.  
  
Everyone buys into his act of a man who can cope. Everyone but Annie. After all, she's the one who lies down beside him at night, the one who can feel his bones chatter, see his face contort and sob, hear the way he begs God not to do this.  
  
-  
  
In their dreams, they kiss under a delicate sunlight. It dilutes their misery and they hold each other always, loving like they have more than just a few mornings left.  
  
-  
  
He's showering, she's leaning against the wall watching.  
  
'You'll be OK.'  
  
He hesitates, 'I won't. I'll never be OK again, I imagine.'  
  
'You will. You'll be sad at first but you'll get better in time.'  
  
He disagrees again.  
  
'I want you to find someone new-'  
  
He scoffs, 'No.'  
  
She nods, joins him underneath the running water, still with her clothes on.  
  
-  
  
She's able and functioning for quite a while, and then suddenly she isn't. She's dancing with Ben in the kitchen when she collapses. He catches her and they sink down onto the kitchen tiles.  
  
Her lovely green eyes roll back like stones.  
  
A cold hand finds his to grip tightly. Despite weakness, she is still fierce.  
  
'Ben,' her voice is like ash, or dust; he can barely discern one word from the next, 'my Ben.'  
  
He leans in closer, cradling her head like he does with their daughter's. Her breath is warm on his face and he's crying more than he ever has.  
  
'I-' she coughs brutally, blood comes up, it's dripping down from her nose too, 'I'm glad it's happening like this, I'm glad we're alone. I want only you to be listening.'  
  
He thinks now that even God is giving them privacy.  
  
'My darling,' he brushes her hair from her eyes so she can see him clearly.  
  
'You made my life a happy one, Ben.'  
  
His heart breaks, finally, fully. He kisses her lips, which are dry and cracked, a river bed beneath his own.  
  
'Annie,' he starts rocking her, 'no one will ever love anyone the way I loved you.'  
  
He is still cradling her when people come to take her body away. He starts yelling, telling them he won't let her go.  
  
Of course in the end they use force and sedate him. The last thing he sees before he slips into unconsciousness is her face being covered by a sheet.  
  
He knows nothing in his entire life will ever hurt more than this.  
  
-  
  
He kills his Father because he needs to take it out on something, needs to watch someone die who deserves to.  
  
Roger's life ends quicker than Annie's. He has no important words to say, no long final breath.  
  
Ben thought he would feel something but he doesn't feel anything.  
  
-  
  
He names his daughter Elenora.  
  
It means light and he craves that these days.  
  
She's every bit like Annie. Only the eyes are his.  
  
-  
  
Elenora's only quiet and still for him. He's glad for that. He doesn't really let anyone else near her.

- 

  
On the sickly nights, the ones drenched in loneliness, he sees Annie at the window. Her nose is pressed against the glass, still bleeding. When morning comes though, her ghost fades graciously, without a sound or a touch.

-

Ben loves his daughter. He loves her and needs her to the point that it's unhealthy. It's like salvation, the only possible redemption for the things he has done and that which he is yet to do.  
  
-  
  
He dresses her in magnolia and takes her to the grave of her Mother on her first Christmas. She starts blubbering, so he rocks her gently. She's quiet again.  
  
'We'll be fine,' he whispers, 'you and me, we'll be fine.'  
  
He knows it's not a promise he should make; it will likely be broken. There'll be hell to pay in years to come for his sins.

But right now his daughter is drifting off in his arms and the sun warms them wholly. That's all he knows.

-  
  
Ben's weary but he's re-learning real strength. He's teaching himself to move on. It's a phrase he loathes. He knows he can't, won't. But he tries anyway.  
  
Elenora starts to writhe on his chest where she is rested. They're lying on the couch together.  
  
'Shh,' Ben tells her, 'you're all right honey, you're all right I promise.'

-

 


End file.
